


Out of the Swing of the Sea

by bratfarrar



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Cultural Differences, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-01-30 15:40:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21430624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bratfarrar/pseuds/bratfarrar
Summary: Cody settles down to listen in as Waxer and Boil provide commentary on seemingly every inch of ground they walk across. From time to time Wooley interjects a question or order, but mostly it's just the two of them with none of the verbal filters that would be in place if they realized Cody was on the channel--a lot of speculation as to how long it'll take the general to wake up,ifhe'll wake up (Of course he will, Boil says, sure as if they were discussing the rising of a sun.General Kenobi's not going to let a little thing like crashing into an uncharted planet take him out. Besides, Commander Cody would never let him live it down), how long it'll take for someone to notice they've gone missing, whether anyone will ever find them, and which team is most likely to win this year's Smashball Galaxy Cup. Apparently the Karfeddion Skull Crackers are having a particularly good season.In which the universe forces Cody to take a vacation.
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 46
Kudos: 198





	1. Crash Landing

The general's head wound won't stop bleeding, a slow but steady seep from under the edge of the bacta patch, but Cody's afraid to press on it any harder. The bone _feels_ sound, but he's seen too many plates of seemingly undamaged armor shatter when struck in just the wrong spot. Staring won't make it heal faster--what Cody wouldn't trade for a Jedi's force-abilities right now--but it gives him something to focus on instead of the throbbing pain in his own ankle and shoulder. Not much bacta patches can do for either. Blue Squadron moves around him in the cramped shuttle cockpit with the efficiency of men who have long worked together, though he's pretty sure he recently signed off on requisition orders for three of them. Always good to see shinies integrate quickly into an existing squad.

"Sir." Wooley crouches beside him, fingertips brushing the general's shoulder. There's a deep bruise high on his cheekbone that makes Cody's scar ache in sympathy, but he looks otherwise uninjured.

"Sitrep?" Cody asks, purposefully ignoring the worry evident on Wooley's face when he looks down at Kenobi's lax form.

"Squad's banged around but operational, aside from Bliss--Rivet's pretty sure he's got a concussion. We've got a standard medpac, slightly depleted, rations for two months at full portions, the usual set of basic survival supplies, and just enough ammo to get us into trouble. One hold-out blaster for the pilot, but otherwise our only weapons are what we brought on with us." Not good, in other words, but about what Cody had figured on. "Pen's trying to get the long-range communicator working, but from the level of swearing I'd say we're shit out of luck." He hesitates, looking almost apologetic. "At least the atmo's breathable?"

"No 'at least' about it," Cody says, because he's got to get morale up and keep it there or they're doomed. "If the temperature's within tolerance range and there looks to be enough daylight, send Waxer and Boil out to get the lay of the land--tell them to keep an open channel and stay within comm range. No repeats of Ryloth, I don't care that it all worked out in the end."

"No sir," Wooley says, mouth twitching with amusement. "Should I tell them to be back before bedtime, too?"

"Promise them tea and cookies," Cody says, because it's a joke that Kenobi makes from time to time. That earns him another mouth-twitch from Wooley. "Do we have functional short-range sensors, or do we need to set up a perimeter watch?" The lights and most of the consoles appear to be working, unlike the engines, so it's at least possible.

"I'll find out, sir," and then Cody's alone again with his unconscious superior officer.

"Feel free to wake up and take over any time now," Cody tells him, exasperated, fond. "It's your fault we're in this mess anyhow--'The force isn't telling me anything so this route's probably safe', my ass. Five extra days of travel on the main hyperspace lanes and none of this would've happened."

"Any signs of consciousness?" Rivet doesn't wait for an answer, just drops cross-legged onto the deck and starts manipulating Cody's wrecked ankle. "Does this hurt, sir?" It's like having plasteel shards driven through the joint, and it takes considerable effort for Cody to keep from punching him.

"_Yes_ it hurts," he hisses instead. "And no, he's still out." The medpacs stored on GAR shuttles include some fairly potent painkillers, and under nearly any other circumstance Cody would be demanding them right now. Given everything, though, he fixes his eyes on the general's left ear and practices his deep breathing as the squad's combat medic continues prodding, though he bites through his lip when Rivet removes his boot in a sudden flare of pain so bright he can nearly see it. "Have you ever heard the phrase 'bedside manner', Rivet?"

"Waste of time," Rivet counters, with the cheer of a brother who's only doing his duty and so can't get dinged for it by his commanding officer. "Wiggle your toes for me, sir." Cody does, silently inventing a few new swearwords along the way. "Looks like it's just a sprain--I can wrap it for you, but try not to put any weight on it for at least a couple of days."

"I'll see what I can do," Cody says, sardonic, knowing it'll bounce right off the impenetrable shield of Rivet's dedication to his secondary craft. "You know anything about resetting a dislocated shoulder?" Rivet does, though Cody almost regrets the question when it requires him passing custody of Kenobi over to a nearby, vacantly-staring Bliss.

"Not like he's up to much else at this point," Rivet comments to nobody in particular, carefully removing the armor plates from Cody's shoulder and arm. "Now, lie down and let Jumbo sit on you. I haven't had enough practice to make sure it won't hurt." Cody invents a few more swearwords and nearly bites through the fabric of his gauntlet before the process is over, but the pain finally drops to an ignorable level and everything seems functional again--though Rivet straps his arm to his chest and orders him not to use it unless they wind up in the middle of an actual firefight. "Even then, probably best if you just find a rock to hide behind."

"Guess we'll just have to avoid getting ambushed in the middle of an empty field, then." Having at least the option of using his arm again has mostly revived Cody's good humor, aided by the return of Kenobi to his lap. The bleeding seems to have finally stopped, and when Rivet flashes the general's eyes with his bucket headlamp the pupils respond evenly.

"No concussion, probably no swelling on his brain--my guess? His body's just taking the chance to force him to sleep." With that, Rivet leaves to get Bliss more comfortably situated in the far corner of the cockpit, where he's less likely to get stepped on. Cody pulls Kenobi's robe up underneath his head, to provide a bit of padding from Cody's cuisses, directs a passing Flare to collect his bucket from where it had rolled away in the crash, and settles down to listen in as Waxer and Boil provide commentary on seemingly every inch of ground they walk across. From time to time Wooley interjects a question or order, but mostly it's just the two of them with none of the verbal filters that would be in place if they realized Cody was on the channel--a lot of speculation as to how long it'll take the general to wake up, _if_ he'll wake up (_Of course he will_, Boil says, sure as if they were discussing the rising of a sun. _General Kenobi's not going to let a little thing like crashing into an uncharted planet take him out. Besides, Commander Cody would never let him live it down_), how long it'll take for someone to notice they've gone missing, whether anyone will ever find them, and which team is most likely to win this year's Smashball Galaxy Cup. Apparently the Karfeddion Skull Crackers are having a particularly good season.

Wooley comes over a couple of times to give Cody off-comms updates: yes, the sensors are working, so they don't need to post a watch outside the shuttle, and here's the temporary duty roster for Cody's approval; no, Pen absolutely cannot get the long-distance communicator to work even if they cannibalize the entirety of the surviving shuttle, but he can possibly build a beacon, it'll just take a couple of days; would Cody like to split a ration bar?

Cody never _wants_ to split a ration bar, because ration bars are made of wood pulp and off-brand vitamin mix, but he's hungry and tired and it'll make Wooley feel better if he says yes, so he does. They eat in near-silence, just the whisper of voices from Cody's bucket on the deck beside them. Aside from Sixer, currently on comms and monitor duty, the rest of the squad have settled down in twos and threes to get what sleep they can. According to Wooley's calculations there's another couple hours of daylight yet, but they're coming off Coruscant time and the inevitable adrenaline crash from a rapid series of near-death encounters.

"I'll take first watch," he tells Wooley when they're done eating, after the third time Wooley's visibly jerked back awake. Cody's own weariness is the kind where his mind won't allow his body the option of rest, so he might as well grant it to his brother. Wooley murmurs his assent, tips his head against Cody's shoulder, and is a sleep-lax weight against his arm and side a moment later. Cody's functional arm, which means he's pinned for the moment and has to call Sixer over to retrieve his bucket for him, voice pitched to avoid waking anyone. From the way Sixer hesitates, head slightly cocked, before leaning in to help Cody get the bucket on, there are now almost certainly holos of Cody playing cuddlebug with both his sergeant and commanding officer.

"For morale purposes only," he warns, probably unnecessarily, given that it's Sixer and not one of the others. "No blackmail."

"But of course, sir." And Sixer settles the bucket into place, somehow managing not to mash Cody's nose in the process, setting the seal at his neck with unexpectedly gentle hands.

He listens for an hour or so, half-dozing at times as the ebb and swell of chatter between Waxer and Boil and Sixer occupies enough of his mind that there's no room for questions such as whether anyone would bother looking for their lost squad if they didn't have High Jedi General Kenobi with them. Cody might be a marshal commander, but any one of the commanders below him--and not a few of the captains--could step into his position without real injury to the GAR. Jedi, on the other hand, are functionally irreplaceable, and Kenobi even more so than most.

But Cody's not thinking about that right now. Cody's listening to the easy three-way camaraderie of Alpha team, and making a mental note of locations that might be worth investigating more closely in a day or so, once the squad is up and fully operational again, and beginning to wonder if he should nudge Wooley awake and let him mind things for the next couple of hours. And then Cody's on sudden high alert when Boil hisses for Waxer to shut up, keep his head down, and look over there--is that a group of mounted soldiers? Why yes it is, Waxer agrees with a kind of nervous calm, and it looks like they're armed with slug-throwers and headed for that village right below where Waxer and Boil are currently hiding.

"What kind of reception are they getting?" There's a long moment of absolute silence over the comms after Cody speaks.

"Friendly, sir?" Waxer hazards eventually. "Even with the binocs it's kind of far to see clearly, but everyone's dismounting, and they don't seem to be forming a perimeter or anything, just mingling with the locals."

"Can you give me a head count? Are they armored?"

There's another, longer moment of silence before Waxer reports. "There are too many trees in the way for an exact count, but I'd estimate it at a platoon, sir. They're wearing some kind of standardized armor on their upper body, can't see the legs. Most of them have helmets. Too far to even guess at the material. Do you want us to attempt a closer recon?" Wooley's comment about just enough ammo to get into trouble flashes through Cody's head, accompanied by a vision of Waxer and Boil overwhelmed and the enemy following their trail back to the effectively defenseless shuttle.

"Negative." It comes out harsher than he intends, but he can't risk them exposing their position for such a tenuous possibility of information gain, not when their current situation and resources are so poor. "Record what you can and then get back here before nightfall. Obscure your trail as best as possible, but otherwise use all speed."

"Yessir," Waxer snaps off, echoed by Boil, who still sounds a bit shell-shocked at having Cody break into the channel unannounced.

"Sixer, continue monitoring the channel, and let me know if anything else occurs of import. As you were, gentlemen." He clicks his tongue to imitate the chirp of sound that sometimes comes from dropping a channel. Across the room Sixer swivels to look at him; Cody can almost see the raised eyebrow through the expressionless front of his bucket. Cody just stares back until Sixer shrugs and turns back to the sensor readouts.

After almost a minute of dead air, Boil ventures, "How long was he on the channel?"

"Whole time," Sixer informs him in the pious tone of a brother who knows he's not the one getting in trouble. This news is greeted with a lengthy but subdued string of cursing, which ends just before Cody would have to break back in to remind Boil that he's got a job to do. "Pretty much," Sixer says, all good cheer. "Now, let's figure out how to get you guys back here intact for your dressing-down." There probably won't be one, given all the circumstances, but it won't hurt to let them both stew for a while--a reminder that comms protocols exist for a reason. Never know who might be listening in.

Meanwhile, Cody switches his bucket to the exterior audio channel and regretfully nudges Wooley. "Sergeant, we have a situation."

"Yessir." Wooley lurches upright, bleary-eyed, patting the deck beside him until he finds his deece. "I'll go rouse the men." Cody grabs his elbow before he can stand up and squeezes just enough for it to register. _Stay_. And Wooley's really not fully awake yet because he immediately collapses back against Cody's shoulder, clutching his deece in his lap. "What kind of situation, sir?" He scrubs at his eyes with the unarmored heel of one hand.

"The kind that means we can let everyone sleep for another half hour while we plan." Wooley unsuccessfully tries to smother a yawn, but his eyes are mostly clear now, and by the time Cody finishes laying out what Waxer and Boil discovered he's frowning in concentration.

"If they were that close, not much chance they didn't see the shuttle as it was coming down and probably have a good idea of the trajectory of the landing site at a minimum. Ship's cannons are fixed, so not much we can do there. No cover around us means we can see them coming, but they can see us as well, and if they have anything to breach the hatch with we're toast. I hate to say it, sir, but we might need to abandon the ship and head for somewhere better-hidden and more defensible. Rations will be a pain to transport, but we can manage enough for at least the first few days." He sits up a bit more, and starts making calculations on his fingers, silently mouthing the numbers to himself.

"I'm more concerned about the injured," Cody says, gesturing towards his taped-up ankle and the unconscious general in his lap. "I can't walk unaided, and the general will need to be carried or dragged. Last report I had on Bliss's condition sounded like he might also need to be carried. We're going to be leaving one heck of a trail and moving pretty slow."

Wooley curls his hands into fists and stares at them for a moment. "I can't believe I forgot about Bliss. What kind of sergeant am I?"

"One who would've remembered before it could've caused an issue," Cody tells him because it's the truth. "Let's go check on his condition--I need to test just how bad my ankle is, anyway."

Pretty bad, as it turns out. Cody could walk on it if he had to, but not for long and he'd be completely wrecked during and after. As it is, he winds up using Wooley as a crutch and basically hopping on his good foot across the shuttle deck to where Rivet's curled protectively around Bliss, torso and thigh plates stacked neatly beside him.

"I'm pretty sure it's a brain-bleed, sir." All of Rivet's usual armor-clad cheer is gone, replaced with worry and weariness--and a tenderness Cody never could've guessed at as he cradles Bliss's head against his belly. "Nothing I can do about it--even if I had the equipment I sure as anything don't have the training. The medpac computer just says to keep him stabilized until a medical droid is available for diagnosis and surgery if needed, but that's obviously not an option here."

"No," Cody agrees, leaning more heavily against Wooley as he tries to find a position where it doesn't feel like his ankle's about to explode into little painful pieces all over the floor. "Not here." He looks back at where they'd left the general tucked up against the bulkhead, his robes bundled under his head for a pillow. They'd shaken him pretty hard, getting him off Cody's lap, going so far as to tentatively slap his cheek a couple of times, with absolutely no reaction. Cody had tested his pupil response again, and that was still good, but it was downright scary to have him so ... well, dead to the world. Usually the man would snap to wakefulness at the mere mention of his name, no matter how many days he'd gone without sleep. "I think--I think we need to do something I really don't want to do."

Wooley stiffens beside him, but says nothing. Rivet pulls Bliss's head closer to himself, stroking his thumb down Bliss's cheekbone, but doesn't look away from Cody, eyes clear and calm. "What's that, sir?"

The words taste like failure in Cody's mouth, but better that than avoidable death. "I think we need to turn ourselves in to the local authorities."


	2. First Contact

Wooley clearly doesn't like it, from the way his expression goes completely blank, but Cody anticipated that. Rivet doesn't say anything, just curls down so that his forehead touches Bliss's. If his shoulders start shaking a little, Cody's already turned away and tugging Wooley in the direction of the pilot seats and monitors. "Until Waxer and Boil get back, Sixer's our best source of intel for planning this. And we'll need to get everyone up now--Flare to take over comms, Bang-Bang and Jumbo and Pen to help Rivet start prepping Bliss and the general for transport. Alpha team will be handling contact with the locals, Pen and Bravo team our exfil if plan Aurek goes bad. Either way we're going to need travoises or stretchers just to get the injured safely out of the shuttle."

"Sir," Wooley says, somehow combining both affirmation and unhappy question. He's still holding himself awkwardly braced beneath Cody's arm, and it's uncomfortable, keeps pulling Cody off-balance and slowing him down, so Cody stops and risks falling over just so he can remove his bucket, resting his forehead against Wooley's temple. Wooley softens enough to lean into it, even though the bruising on his face must hurt.

"If it was just the general's injuries I'd probably give the order to abandon the shuttle and go to ground." He pitches his voice so only Wooley can hear, because he can't let on to anyone else just how dubious he feels about the orders he's giving. But he needs Wooley fully on board to make this work and Wooley needs this lesson in making the best of an _osik_ situation. "Aside from refusing to wake up he seems sound enough--we could probably just throw him over somebody's shoulder without causing damage. Probably. That's definitely not the case for Bliss, which means either we leave him behind, or leave a trail that any half-competent tracker could follow with his eyes shut. I don't like either scenario, so I'm going to follow General Kenobi's frequent example and take the third option instead. Understood?"

Wooley releases a long shuddering breath, the remaining tension easing out of his shoulders. "Understood, sir. Sorry, sir." He's only a few months younger than Cody, but sometimes it feels like decades. Or what Cody imagines decades might feel like, at any rate.

"Nothing to apologize for, Sergeant. You're just doing your duty, same as I am. I have a bit more experience, that's all." He can feel the pressure to move, to act, all the more because he has no real estimate for how long they have to prepare--but he allows himself one more moment to simply stand here with his brother, silently providing what scant reassurance is his to offer. Two moments; three. And then back on with his bucket and they finish navigating through the seats and sleeping bodies to join Sixer by the monitors. Wooley helps Cody drop into the empty pilot's seat--a somewhat precarious maneuver with only one working arm and ankle--and goes to rouse his men, while Cody toggles himself back into the open comms channel. "Do we have an ETA, gentlemen?"

"Ten minutes, fifteen at most." Waxer sounds out of breath but not panicked, and Cody's sense of urgency drops several notches. "When we left, the local forces were still in town, unmounted. We're climbing pretty much straight up, but they'll need to go the long way around if they want to ride instead of walk. It's a lot of vertical rocky terrain, so there's really only one route they can take up without risking their animals."

"Forty minutes if they really push it, sir," Boil adds with a careful evenness that suggests he's deliberately masking the exertion from his own voice. "But from how shined-up they looked, I'm thinking they'll be more careful. Fifty minutes, maybe a full hour--assuming they're right behind us, but they seemed pretty cozy with the townspeople when we left." It's the first good news Cody's had since Wooley told him they had breathable atmo.

"See you in ten, then." A yawning Flare walks up and knocks on the back of Sixer's bucket before putting his own on. "I need Sixer, so Flare's taking comms and sensors. Check in every five minutes if you're delayed, but otherwise run silent. Speed over stealth now."

"Yessir."

Cody switches his comm off entirely before removing his bucket and gesturing for Sixer to do the same. "Special mission for me, sir?" Sixer asks, half-joking. His eyes are shadowed with fatigue but still alert, and he moves easily enough when he drops into a crouch beside Cody. Fit for duty, despite everything.

"You could call it that," Cody says and then explains, watching Sixer's expression gradually shift from vague amusement to intense thought. From off towards the back of the cockpit come the noises of seats being hacked apart and reconfigured into something to suit their needs--Bravo team fulfilling their part of the plan. "I wish I had more men to send with you," he says at the end of it. "But I need them all in case we have to exfil, and one or two wouldn't make much difference against a platoon, anyway."

"Likely not," Sixer agrees, eyes focused somewhere between him and Cody as he chews over the course of action and the many potential branching outcomes that could follow. "Fewer might be better anyway, if we're trying to avoid the appearance of a threat."

They're still hashing out contingency plans, Wooley having joined them once Bravo team finished demolition and started construction, when Waxer and Boil stumble up the ramp and into the cockpit. Waxer hesitates at the hatch, which is partly blocked by the detritus of Bravo team's current task, bucket in hand and exhausted confusion on his face, but Boil shoves him forward and then keeps shoving until they can drop to the deck beside Sixer and Wooley. If Waxer weren't so clearly winded Cody might raise an eyebrow over the lack of discipline, but right now he needs them both recovered as quickly as possible.

Instead, he cuts straight to the point. "Glad you could join us, gentlemen--give Flare your sensor data so that we can get a proper map compiled, and then let's have a look at your recordings of the local forces." They'd been thorough in their survey of the surrounding area, with few gaps in the compiled readings, and those explained almost entirely by impassable terrain. There aren't many options for an evacuation route, which at least means it's a brief discussion. Their recordings of the soldiers at the foot of the mountain are rather less satisfactory, but acceptable given the distances and stealth involved. Cody's able to confirm Waxer's estimated numbers, and even a mere two minutes of footage contains an enormous amount of information for those trained in the art of tactical intelligence exploitation. "What do you see?" he asks, and sets the handheld holo-projector to run several times on a loop.

"They were expected," Wooley says halfway through the third cycle. "And the townspeople know at least some of them personally--look, this soldier over here is being greeted in particular by the old man with a tooka, and the commanding officer and the woman who seems to be the spokesperson for the town don't even bother saying hello to each other. It's just straight down to business."

"The kids like them, too," Waxer adds, breathing almost returned to normal. "They're mobbing that one guy at the back of the formation and he's happily handing stuff out to them. Candy, maybe. As far as they're concerned, he's a hero, and none of the adult townspeople look worried about it at all. Whatever the wider regional politics look like, this town trusts this platoon."

Which is of some comfort, given that Cody's preparing to entrust the safety of himself and his men--and his general--to the decency of these people. He glances towards the back of the cockpit, where Rivet and Bang-Bang are maneuvering Bliss into some kind of sling arrangement. Looks more than a bit precarious to Cody, but he's delegated that particular task, so it's not his worry until something goes wrong. General Kenobi's still curled up against the bulkhead, exactly as Cody and Wooley had left him. _Any time now,_ Cody thinks loudly in his direction, just in case it might make a difference, and turns back to the matter at hand.

"Come back in one piece," is the extent of his motivational speech to Alpha team. He's already said everything needed to Sixer, who nods impassively at him before shoving his bucket on. "_Oya._"

"_Oya_," they echo, and file out the hatch, exchanging shoulder thumps and clasped arms as they pass Bravo team. Waxer watches them go, clearly unhappy at being left behind, but Cody and the rest of the squad will need him as guide if everything goes wrong. And from the slightly awkward angle he's holding himself at, he probably has an unconfessed cracked rib, or at the very least heavy bruising. Cody'll have to give him the lecture about full disclosure of medical status before a mission and why it's important--after they've gotten out of this particular situation. For now, he settles back in the pilot's seat and switches his comm back on. No idle chatter this time, just the occasional "Watch your foot here," or "Careful, this bush has thorns," which is exactly as it should be. Boil reports in at a few landmarks, but otherwise Cody finds himself watching the sensor display in near silence.

Wooley comes over after a little while to report that their supplies and casualties are prepped and ready for exfil, then folds himself down onto the deck beside Cody's foot, back to the console so he can keep an eye on Bravo team and the hatch. He carefully presses the bruise beside his eye, biting his lip at the pain, but after a brief hesitation pulls his bucket on anyway. A moment later Cody hears the faint click of him joining the channel.

Cody's used to waiting--they all are--but there's something different about this, a kind of forlorn hope that has it feeling more like a vigil than a watch. Makes him glad for the press of Wooley's shoulder against his knee. They probably shouldn't be leaning on each other quite so blatantly in front of Wooley's squad, but when Cody glances behind him to where Bravo's waiting, they're intently focused down on Bliss and the general, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder around them, so it doesn't really matter.

Twenty-four minutes later, Boil says, "I have eyes on the local forces," and Cody can feel himself switch into combat mode, even though there's nothing for him to do. Wooley glances up at him, must feel the change in tension, so Cody shrugs as apologetically as he can. It would probably be better if he could stay loose, like his sergeant somehow is, but after a year spent either in battle or prepping for the next one, his reflexes are pretty well set to hair-trigger.

"Confirmed." Sixer sounds deliberately professional. "They're moving kind of slow, so we'll hold for a minute before settling into position--I want to get a good look at them." There's another stretch of silence, and Cody finds himself counting heartbeats like when he was a cadet struggling to pass the various endurance requirements. "Boil will take left, Flare right. If it comes to a firefight, take down the unarmored lead animals and then find cover and work your way around to the rendezvous point, stealth over speed. I'll either make it out or won't, but your priority is exfil. The squad can't afford to lose all three of us. Understood?"

Boil's growled _understood_ suggests that he'd rather cut off his own legs; Flare merely sounds uncertain. But Cody would guess of the two he's the one more likely to disobey these orders--Boil's seen battle often enough to understand that if the situation goes bad, Sixer's probably already dead and there's nothing to be done about it. It's galling to be trapped back at the ship, unable to actually _do_ anything; even trying to rally Flare over comms would likely just add confusion to an already chaotic situation--some things have to be done in person or not at all.

There's another break that feels like forever but is probably about forty seconds. Then: "They appear to be standard human," almost off-handedly. Though the facade drops when Sixer adds, "Wish me luck, Commander," slightly too fast and with an audible hitch in his breathing.

"What little I have is yours, trooper," Cody says, and gets only "He's taken his bucket off, sir," in reply from Boil.

"Understood." Beside Cody, Wooley's still seemingly at ease, but his hands have slowly balled up into tight fists. "Keep me apprised." He presses his heel against Wooley's hip; Wooley doesn't look up, but flexes his fingers once and then relaxes them again to rest loosely against his thighs. When Cody glances to the back of the cockpit the rest of the squad are crouched close around the injured, braced as if they'll need to make a sprint for it.

"They're too far for me to pick up audio, but at least the locals have stopped advancing. Weapons out, but not aimed at Sixer." Which is about as good as Cody had hoped--it's more generous than he'd likely be as a commanding officer encountering a similar situation. "He's talking pretty fast, looks like, but doesn't seem to be getting much of a reaction." Not ideal, but still better than many of the alternatives. "No, wait, one of the guys at the back just dismounted and is walking towards Sixer. Doesn't have a helmet, which is weird--everyone else does."

Cody's learned the hard way about jinxing a good thing, so he bites his lip until it starts to bleed again, forces his breathing to remain steady, calm. Listens to Boil's half-guessed narration of this first meeting with an unknown civilization. Sixer continues to avoid getting shot; several other soldiers dismount and cluster around him; Flare wonders out loud if maybe he and Boil could sneak closer so they could hear what's going on. Boil smacks that down before Cody has to--though he'll need to speak to Flare after, help him parse out when the laudable desire for information bumps over into reckless curiosity. The army needs to foster at least some degree of initiative from its soldiers, after all.

He's hesitating over a brief word in that direction while they wait when Sixer finally breaks back into the channel. "Sir," he says, sounding like he's just run to Coruscant and back--all the way through exhausted and light-years past the other side, "they've agreed to provide us with medical aid and at least temporary shelter while our injured men recover. We'll have to surrender our weapons for the trip down to the nearest city, but once you're able to give your parole directly to the emperor, the captain expects we'll get them back." No duress codes, no indication that Sixer thinks it's anything other than a sincere offer.

Cody has to take a moment to close his eyes and simply breathe, exhaustion striking him like a blow, every muscle twanging from the near-instant release of tension. "Tell him we accept his terms, Sixer. And thank you." From behind him comes a subdued but fervent _Oya!_, and then Wooley's giving him a hand up and out of the seat so Pen has access to power down the functional parts of the ship. "We'll be coming down to meet you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to [TrickyTricky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrickyTricky) for helping to whip this chapter into shape!

**Author's Note:**

> I am a slooow writer. But I have this fic mapped out start to finish and am determined to see it through. A promise that gets made on many an abandoned WIP, I know, but I'll do my best to fulfill it.
> 
> Thanks to [TrickyTricky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrickyTricky/pseuds/TrickyTricky) and [CountessOfBiscuit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/countessofbiscuit/pseuds/countessofbiscuit) for betaing this chapter!


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